


treehouse

by spiritedwhere



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Time Skips, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, rated t for treehouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-09-26 13:37:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9900008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiritedwhere/pseuds/spiritedwhere
Summary: As Yuri and Otabek befriend the other, Otabek more willing to sit down and connect with the younger blond than anyone else Yuri had met, and Yuri’s loud mouthed tendencies and heavy pride melting away in only his presence, they seek to find a place that brings them both peace and support.Yuri remembers the treehouse. Otabek learns of it.





	1. indifference

**Author's Note:**

> me: i have things i need to work on stories to write  
> em: i really like this treehouse au  
> me: forget everything this is the most important thing atm

The treehouse had been there for almost as long as Yuri could remember. He hadn’t ever seen the tree behind his house without it, couldn’t recall it not being a place in his life. Yuri’s grandfather tells him it was made when he was five, when Yuri had been obsessed with those he saw in magazines at the store, begged and whined and cried for months on end leading up to his birthday.

Yuri claims no memory to anything before the treehouse, his life beforehand only a blur of toys, and legs always around him, and fingers always reaching upwards, like he could hold the sun in his bare hands.

Otabek hadn’t shown up until he was older, however. Barely a teen, with a voice that squeaked as he suddenly grew a bit more. His face turned oily and hair suddenly couldn’t stop growing, ending up in a constant ponytail he refused to cut during the summer months. Yuri was suddenly always gazing into the mirror, hoping to see some signs of facial hair, or chest hair, or some hair of some sort to rival the ones those at his school had begun to show off.

Otabek showed up when the treehouse had been some vague memory of Yuri’s childhood. It still laid in the tree behind his house, but was now ridden with rotting wood, roof showing patches where fallen leaves laid and snow piled up. The place was dilapidated, practically two breezes away from crashing down from the trees to rest amongst the grass. Yuri’s mother begins to comment on getting rid of it, before it brings any harm.

When Yuri meets Otabek for the first time, his new foreign neighbor, a few years older, yet already more matured and collected than Yuri could ever dream for, he’s forgotten about the treehouse.

As Yuri and Otabek befriend the other, Otabek more willing to sit down and connect with the younger blond than anyone else Yuri had met, and Yuri’s loud mouthed tendencies and heavy pride melting away in only his presence, they seek to find a place that brings them both peace and support.  
Yuri remembers the treehouse. Otabek learns of it.

“It’s in need of a lot of work”, Otabek tells him, hands cautious when he reaches to touch the ladder leading to it.

“We can do it”, Yuri responds to him, hands excitedly moving when he begins his plans for the new renovations. Otabek listens carefully as he does so, as if he’s intensely taking notes on every wish Yuri has.

And, with due time, Yuri realizes Otabek does.

That summer, with hair pulled up and tank tops showing both lean muscles and boney arms, they rebuild the treehouse. Replace the floorboards that have the most damage, patch up the holes in the roof, but not before they joke on keeping it there as a skylight. When it’s safe to enter and walk around without the fear of falling out, they discover a family of cats residing in a corner of the house, kittens purring and mother eyeing the pair warily. They don’t throw them out, instead consider them as new guests to join them. Otabek goes out and gets cat food, Yuri makes sure they’re warm and safe in the house. With time, the cats become affectionate, allow themselves to be held and cuddled, even ranted to whenever Otabek hammers his finger instead of a nail.

He does it quite a lot. Most of the time, Yuri sits next to a cat as he does so, fondly rubbing their head.

It’s lots of time spent with him, and in an odd sense, Yuri doesn’t find it that much of a bother compared to the other people who’ve occupied his life. He finds old furniture to squeeze up into the treehouse, cordless lamps that Otabek picks up at thrift stores. They go out during breaks and visit the corner store, Yuri showing Otabek some of the foods he’s still unaware of Russia having. Otabek returns the favor by taking Yuri out for rides on his newest prize, a motorbike that roars almost as proudly as the tigers that caught Yuri’s eyes at zoos. When they stop working for the day, Yuri’s saying greetings to Otabek’s parents and requesting to his family if a sleepover would be allowed for the night, spending the night talking more on plans.

The plans go from treehouses to careers to families, of marriage and haircuts and friendships.

Yuri thinks he’ll have Otabek at his side for them all. He’s gotten used to him, familiar with every motion and idea that falls through his mind. It’s become such a dependence on both parts, it’s as if they make up two halves of a whole.

Yuri is able to call him a friend, mean every smile made at him and not feel as if he’s under some pressure to live up to.

By the time summer leaves, and the falls begin to change color with the arrival of a new season, and Yuri’s hair has been trimmed down to a school accepted length, the treehouse is finally finished. It’s childish delight that overtakes the two, as they bound up the newly reconstructed ladder and enter what they’ve dubbed their “secret hideaway”. It’s cozy and snug enough for the two, and they sit down on the rug they dragged up into the treehouse.

Yuri fingers the newly cut locks, examines the way his hands go through the strands quicker than he had been used to. Otabek leans his head back against the wall.

“School starts up again soon,” Otabek says, his eyes fluttering open to gaze at Yuri. “I’m going to be on the other side of the city, in that fancy, stupid, secondary school down by the docks.”

“How are you going to get there?” Yuri asks, brow arched upward. He learned to do it the other day, after practicing in the mirror and matching different statements to how he should come across as, finds it a good time to try out now, with no odd glances to come from Otabek indicating he did it wrong. “The station doesn’t have any stops near here, and it’s almost an hour trip to even reach that area.”

Otabek makes some sound in his throat that’s half laugh, half some form of scoffing. “My bike,” he answers. “I’m going to have to learn how to take the quickest route to and from here, or else I’ll be done for. It’s going to be near torture.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Yuri is too young to even imagine taking two more years after he’s age fifteen, doesn’t get why Otabek chooses to continue on at sixteen. “Well, you’ll still be able to come home and talk to me afterward,” Yuri tells him, shrugging and leaning back against his own wall. The wood creaks against his spine, in a friendly, comforting way.

“Yeah.” Otabek gives off one of his rare, yet always pleasing, grins. “We can come here, talk about our schools. Then we can see if going to your secondary school will be any different from going to mine.”

Yuri smiles at his friend. The treehouse smells of some form of rotting wood, of the detergent that is strong and prominent on both boys. If Yuri focused hard enough, he could probably think of dozens of other smells.

The treehouse smells of those who remember.

* * *

The first time Yuri sneaks out, it’s not to some shady place, nor to a secret lover’s house. He’s still wary of every step he takes, however, making sure his mother and grandfather won’t wake to scold him. Not that they would’ve gotten mad; it's fall break, and Yuri isn’t one to keep secrets.

The first time Yuri sneaks out, it’s to the treehouse, stars dotting the sky and promises held high.

Otabek lies in there, his hair messier than usual, lying on the floor. He’s staring up at the ceiling, eyes droopy. He flashed lights from the windows of the treehouse, made Yuri rise from his bed and exit his very comfy, very warm home, and just stays poised on the floor, the cold November air chilling as it passes through.

If Yuri had this played out with anybody else, he’s sure he would’ve gone ballistic.

“You need to move over,” is the first thing to come from his mouth, arms crossed as he attempts to cover his bare arms. “What are you even staring at?”

“The skylight,” comes Otabek’s response. He scoots over, motions for Yuri to lie down next to him. He listens, the ground somehow warmer.

“We don’t have a skylight.”

“We should’ve added one when we had the chance.” Otabek raises a hand to motion at the ceiling. “Just imagine how cool it would’ve looked.”

For his sake, Yuri looks at the ceiling, imagines a glass pane showing off the night sky. He nods, knowing Otabek can’t see it. It doesn’t matter. Yuri knows that Otabek would feel his mutual agreement, as would Yuri would on Otabek.

“When I said that we should come to the house in case of an emergency, I didn’t think we would talk about the ceiling,” Yuri tells him. “Like, one of the cats were giving birth, or a floorboard came up and some squirrel wanted to crawl in.”

“But this is an emergency,” Otabek argues. His voice is still deep, however, sleepiness seeping out of it to cover Yuri. “I needed to discuss this with someone. It’s very important.”

He’s about to respond, witty remark on the tip of his tongue when a sudden, harsh breeze makes its way into the treehouse. Yuri instinctively moves closer to Otabek, shoulders against each other as a defense against the cold. One of the cats come to brush onto their legs, purrs, and curls up in the small space between them, absorbing the heat from the pair.

“Guess we can’t move now,” Otabek says. “We’ll wake the cat.”

It’s something hard to argue against. Instead of choosing to talk, Yuri leans his head back, makes to adjust it the best he can against the wood. “If I wake up with a stiff neck,” he starts, “I’m making sure you personally regret it.”

Otabek laughs, even the time of night doing nothing to dull the brightness it causes.

Yuri’s first time sneaking out winds up with him sleeping next to Otabek leads to both becoming sick in bed for the rest of the week due to the cold weather. They don’t mind, using the fact their windows face each other as a way to send messages to one another, pressed against the window panes and written in almost worn out markers.

The treehouse makes something new to remember.

* * *

The music brightens up the treehouse, adds something new to the atmosphere.

Otabek grins as he pauses the track, the music stopping and causing complete silence in the wooden nook. He looks at Yuri, eyes expectantly waiting for a response. “What did you think?” he asks, waiting impatiently for an answer.

“I loved it!” gushes an overly hyped Yuri, in a tone rarely used. “You never told me you knew how to mix songs like that.”

“It’s just something I picked up. I get bored now and days, when you’re not around.” Otabek scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed at the confession. “It’s something I made for you to listen to as you stretch out in your dance classes.”

He can’t fight off a grin at the news of that. Yuri is beyond happy, practically jumping off of the ground as he gives Otabek a hug. “I’ll start using it my next class,” he promises to his friend.

“And when is that?” Otabek asks, an arm coming around to hug back.

“Later today, up until eight.” Yuri moves his gaze, stares out of the treehouse’s window, eyes the way the sunset looks like an explosion of color against the sky. The summer breeze is pleasing, the sounds of festivities from the city loud enough to be distantly heard from even their place. He’s reminded it’s the last day of the White Nights, where the majority of schoolmates will be celebrating the end to another school year.

Yuri knows he won’t be a part of it all, not one to make friends to go with, and turns to look back at his companion. Otabek reaches out and pulls back a strand of hair, tucking it behind Yuri’s ear with a gentle hand. It’s gotten longer, thinned out some, but the abundance of it balances it out enough. Yuri likes to think that, along with the way his skin smoothed over and stance grew straighter over the months, was due to the constant working out and diet he’s moved himself to take up. His grandfather had suggested he find something to help calm his temper, and his natural flexibility had him enrolled in dance classes come the new year. Over due time, as the complaining over it had turned to a deep interest unlike any other, Yuri started to expand and extend his talents, showing clear promise of a high career in a dance company. There were even rumors of Lilia Baranovskaya, a highly known, famously regarded past prima ballerina, to come and see his talents so far, perhaps even take him under her wing.

It was thrilling, the thought that he could make something out of an interest, perhaps expand it enough to _be_ something.

“We should go to the festival,” Otabek tells him. “I have only one more school year left after this, and you’ll be more than busy by next year.”

The blond furrows his brows. “Really?” he asks doubtfully. “I don’t know if I would know that many people to be around, especially during the fireworks.”

“You’ll have me.”

He smiles, teeth shining brightly. The blond returns the motion, hands coming to rest on top of each other.

“…Yeah. I’ll have you.”

Songs are exchanged, plans are made. The treehouse carries something else.

* * *

 Yuri notes that Otabek carries too much on him.

A bag is pulled up into the treehouse, followed by the dark-haired guy himself. As Yuri looks at him struggling with the bag, making his way over, he doesn’t feel the urge to help, instead, observing him as he struggles with the weight.

“You’re early,” Otabek tells him, voice strained with the weight of the bag weighing him down.

“You’re late,” Yuri counters. Tapping his finger to the spot next to him, Yuri flips his ponytail to rest against the back of his neck. The summer heat is too much for the length of hair he has, and he’s nearly close to chopping it all off. But, as Lilia always reminds him, it’s improper to do so.

No good prima ballerina would ever be so impulsive. And, Yuri doesn’t want to be just _good_. He wants to be the best.

Otabek sits next to him, the bag dragged to lie in between his opened legs. As he begins to dig around, Yuri entertains himself by spreading his legs in front of him, flexing and arching his toes to a simple beat he can follow without straining his mind.

“What’s the plan for today?” he asks Otabek, turning his eyes to examine him.

There isn’t a response for a while, the older one more occupied with something, hands nearly swallowed by the bag as he digs around for something. Otabek pulls out various stacks of CDs, a large cord that’s not even connected to anything, and a handful of bills, before finally grabbing the object of his current affection.

Two premade smoothies. Made for young children, Yuri notes. When Otabek hands him one, Yuri doesn’t conceal the giggle that emerges from his lips. It’s comedic almost, the serious expression painting his features as Otabek begins to peel away the metallic covering, of a bottle that contains some neon colored animal painted onto it. Yuri stops the movement in his feet, brings them to cross one another, bottle hanging tight in his grip.

“The plan for today,” Otabek says, “is to relax.” He makes to drink his smoothie but stops suddenly. With his free hand, he points at Yuri, more specifically, at his unopened bottle. Yuri half laughs, half sighs as he fiddles with the metallic, ripping it off and resting the covering next to him on the floor.

“I don’t understand-“

“Just hold it up.”

He raises the bottle, now open, in the air. He’s about to question what’s in the drink, if it’s healthy enough to have, when Otabek brings his bottle to Yuri’s, stopping for a minute before he clicks the tops together.

“Clink.”

The result is immediate. Head tilted back, free hand slapped over his face as he makes to muffle a laugh (and fails doing so), Yuri is a mess at the simple, childish remark made. It takes several minutes he’s calm once more, face heated and lungs out of breath. Otabek stubbornly avoids his gaze as he attempts to drink with red cheeks and glaring eyes, fails the moment both lock eyes mid-drink. When Yuri lets a snort slip from him, Otabek nearly chokes to death right there and then, somewhere between a laugh and gasp for air as the spat up liquid coats the two.

Afterward, when he looks back, Yuri can’t think of a time where he hadn’t laughed so hard in his life, nor a time where he yelled so much before at the way the smoothie tinted his skin for the rest of the night.

The treehouse gains a new mark, stained on the floorboards and smiles of the two.

* * *

 When he’s there again, it’s with raised voices and waving arms, of Yuri telling Otabek he shouldn’t be mad. Otabek responds, his voice unusually loud, telling Yuri he has no right to tell him what to not be angry over.

Yuri brushes his hair, pulling it back as he turns to stare at the ground, tears welling up. Tells Otabek he doesn’t understand why he isn’t happy for him. For his family.

Otabek is tense, doesn’t say anything. He gazes at Yuri, his face now turning stoic. One look at the way his fingers shake, how he breathes heavily, catching oxygen to sooth his throat and lungs, tells his true emotions clearly.

Yuri’s grandfather and mother gaze out of the kitchen window, worried and half-heartedly cleaning plates. They don’t say a word, viewing the interaction that place from the windows of the treehouse.

Bags lie under the treehouse, resting on the tree, stuffed with clothes and trinkets. Each one is embroidered with a logo, the script underneath it letting all know of the dance company’s St. Petersburg chapter. And on each strap, carefully sewn on, is Yuri’s name on each one.

The treehouse loses something.

* * *

For some time, the treehouse isn’t used.

Yuri is off in St. Petersburg, training with some of the talented dancers of the century. Otabek is in the center of the city, working at high-end clubs late into the night.

Neither go and reach out, try to salvage something.

The treehouse sits there, perched in the trees. It’s waiting, paused in time.

* * *

 He’s standing in his old backyard, gazing around at the all too familiar scenery. It’s summer, with the tree alive, leaves bright green. Resting in the middle, a piece of something trapped in time, is his old treehouse.

He takes a deep breath. It’s bittersweet, seeing this prominent figure in his childhood lying unused, the wood as rotting as it had been once he fixed it up again.

Not alone, of course. There had been Otabek.

 _Otabek_.

“Yuri!”

The blond whips his head around, snapped out of his ponderings. He knows that voice. He knows it too well, from the sleepy tone it carried late at night, to the rare, overly excited pitch. He’s remembered it as well as he would with the routines trained into his muscles.

He’s yelling at Yuri from the kitchen, the window that looks over the sink open and Otabek’s head squeezed into it. He’s grown older, hair in an undercut now, jaw hardened. He looks happier, more expressive with his emotions than he had ever been before.

When he steps out, Yuri’s startled to see how little he’s grown in height. They’re practically the same height now, albeit a few inches Otabek still has on him. He’s clutching a bag, the style sleek and very expensive looking.

“It’s been a while,” he says, once he’s finally only a few feet away from Yuri. He smiles at the blond.

“Yeah.” Yuri runs a hand nervously through his hair, unsure of where to proceed. “You look good,” he lets out after a bit, hoping he’ll give Otabek the needed push to continue talking to him.

He takes the bait, eyes roaming Yuri’s face. “So do you,” he says. “Your hair’s grown out a bit, but it’s good. I like it.”

Yuri grabs a strand at the comment, twirls the ends. “Thanks,” Yuri speaks out. He lets out a laugh, so bewildered as to how he’s grown so self-conscious of every moment made. “Want to come inside? My mom made my room into a guest bedroom, but maybe I can get something hot boiling on the stove for us to drink, at the table.”

The dark-haired man, in a response, opens up his backpack, pulls out an all too familiar drink. “Why not rest over there?” He points to the tree. “The treehouse will be too rotten to even try and enter, but the tree itself will be comfy.”

“Why not?” Yuri asks. He glances at Otabek; at the way he practically radiates the sun off of him.

He grins.

Opening the bottles, the grass feeling like a carpet on their feet, sun warming their bones, it’s a feeling Yuri hasn’t felt in a while. The feeling of being a child again, rushing out and about to soak in all the glory of the environment around him.

He thinks it’s because of Otabek.

Before they drink, Otabek stops them from drinking. He has he body turned around to face him, eyes trained as he raises his drink upwards. Confused, Yuri does the same, only realizing once Otabek clicks them against each other what’s to come.

“Clink.”

Just like that, they’re teens again, laughing and dissolving all awkward energies. Yuri belts out, tears forming in the corners of his eyes as Otabek remarks on the way Yuri had been mad at him the rest of that week.

When they’ve calmed down, and the drinks have been sipped down, and it’s quiet and still and there’s nothing to disturb this moment, Yuri doesn’t hesitate in the asking of his question. It’s one that’s been on his mind ever since he left to dance, left his family behind, left _Otabek_ behind.

“Why didn’t you care, after I left?”

He watches Otabek sigh, bring his finger to fiddle with the top of the bottle. “I did care. I cared. A lot.”

“It didn’t seem like it,” Yuri tells him. He begins to say what’s been eating inside of him, for all of those years. “You yelled at me the day I was going, made me feel as if it was a mistake, and once I went… I never even heard from you again.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled.” Otabek’s voice is quiet, softer than it had ever been. It’s delicate, like the slightest touch would make it all fall apart. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry. And I wasn’t. I wasn’t angry at you.”

“Who, then?” Yuri asks. “Who else could have made you so mad that day?”

“Me.” Otabek’s gazing sadly, looking at the way Yuri’s hair looks in the sunlight, in the hopes it’ll lead to him avoiding Yuri’s eyes. It doesn’t. “I was mad at myself.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t get the chance to spend more time with you.”

Yuri smiles at him. “We had the treehouse.”

Otabek musters up a grin. “Yeah, we had that.”

The treehouse is worn out.

The treehouse is out of use.

The treehouse remembers.

 


	2. nostalgia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otabek smiles.
> 
> Yuri gives one in return.
> 
> Both stumble, trip on the other's feet, find their balance and continue.
> 
> The treehouse feels the tandem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> treehouse bonuses, or the drafts that didn't make the cut while writing.
> 
> for the one and only, as a birthday present.
> 
> ...and to everyone else, to enjoy.

The treehouse isn’t made for more than two, Yuri thinks.

He’s squatted down into the corner, a cat perched onto his lap and a scowl printed onto his face. Before him lies Otabek.

No, he corrects himself. Before him lies Otabek and his _friend_.

“I don’t see how the treehouse is the best place to study,” he tells the two. Raising a hand, he roughly pushes a strand of his hair back, wrapping it around the bun he’s currently sporting. It’s a new school year, and Yuri should be in his own room, studying, but nothing in the world could move him out of the treehouse right now.

“It’s quiet,” Otabek responds, and that’s that. He glances down at the textbook, flips another page, and then pushes it closer to his classmate.

“Your house is quiet,” Yuri retorts.

“It’s just a small class report. He’ll only be here just today and tomorrow.”

“And tomorrow?”

“Would you rather we worked on this all week?”

Yuri sighs, pulls the cat closer to his face. “Tomorrow’s fine,” he amends. “But,” he adds, as he casts a wary eye at Otabek’s companion, “I don’t want him bothering me.”

“He won’t,” Otabek promises. Looking at his classmate, Otabek nudges him. “You won’t, right?”

The classmate doesn’t look up during their conversation, head bent down and pencil scratching down on the paper, hard at work, but he manages a quick nod. He hadn’t spoken a word yet to Yuri, only small murmurs every now and then as he wrote and worked. And, he didn’t come across as a bother. Even the cats were settled close to him, content and unbothered. It was like he wasn’t even there.

Still, Yuri didn’t like him. Or want him in the treehouse, for that matter.

There’s a glare he’s only reserved for a select few that he chooses to cast onto Otabek’s classmate when he leaves, eyeing him down as he begins his descent on the ladder. Yuri crosses his arms and sets his head against the wall only when he’s sure he’s gone, letting a small grin overtake his features. Closing his eyes, he listens to Otabek as he begins to place his papers and books into the bag he’s dragged up into the treehouse.

“You know, you didn’t have to be like that with him,” Otabek says, letting out a sigh.

“I had every right to,” Yuri responds, eyes still closed. “He was rude.”

“Rude?” Otabek repeats, his voice sounding far more closer than before.

“He didn’t even tell me his name.”

“You didn’t tell him yours.”

“Because I was expecting him to do it first. Everyone knows it’s the polite thing to do when visiting someone’s house.” The floorboards creak, a presence sensed next to him. When Yuri moves his head to fall the other way, it’s crashing into Otabek’s shoulder.

A hand makes its way upward, toying with the mass of hair placed on top of Yuri’s head. “Yuri, you do know this is a treehouse, right?” he asks.  

“A treehouse that I made with my bare hands,” Yuri corrects, moving his head to allow Otabek to grasp on more. “And, I feel like that makes me decide who gets entry and who doesn’t.”

“Then who do you suggest gets to enter? As co-maker of this house, I’d like to hear your thoughts.”

“You. Me.” Yuri pauses for a moment, pondering, then continues. “The cats can stay, but only because they’ve lived here for ages,” he adds on.

Otabek laughs at him, the sound a melody in the air. “You’re being dramatic,” he says. “And,” he continues, “be glad at least. If I had brought a pretty girl over to work with, wouldn’t you have been madder?”

“No.” The answer is quick and short, hesitation all gone.

“You wouldn’t?” Otabek asks, looking at his friend, who’s face carries a confident grin too unlike Yuri to be ignored. “Why?”

“Because,” Yuri cracks an eye open, turns his gaze to look at his friend, “then I would’ve known you’d have no interest in her.”

He has barely enough time to dodge before Otabek’s shoving him away, protesting against his statement yet unable to conceal the chuckles that coat the walls of the treehouse and surround the two in a blanket of juvenile joy. Yuri swears he should’ve seen the joke coming, Otabek tells him he’s not one to talk, and neither can’t help but tease one another during the next class project one of them has been assigned to.

The treehouse keeps a record of the laughter, of the jokes and teasing, files that event away in the hopes of another day’s discovery of it.

* * *

The treehouse isn’t a good place for practicing dances.

The floorboards creak and ache with every leap he takes, simple across the floor combinations lead to him pressed against the opposite wall.

Otabek observes his friend from a corner he’s safely placed himself, one of the lamps lit up next to him and casting the room in a soft glow. It’s one of those rare nights that the breeze isn’t too much, and there’s no school to dread, so they’ve chosen to reside in the treehouse, ready to spend the night together. Snacks are overfilling in the bags they’ve brought up, and Yuri’s made to bring plenty of blankets so as to keep him warm throughout the night, not wanting a repeat of November’s cold. Otabek however, pleased in the air that comes from the windows, doesn’t seem to worry so much about the weather during the night, more intrigued in watching Yuri.

“You know, maybe doing some dances with small steps would be better,” he suggests. Picking up a half-eaten granola bar, he chews, noticing that Yuri’s wearing his hair in a tight braid, most likely as an attempt to maintain it while he sleeps. It’s long, beginning to go past his shoulders, but seems to fit him nicely.

It also seems soft, fun to play with when he’s seated next to Yuri, or lying down with him as they talk. Otabek would never admit it, but he’ll miss it once Yuri’s mother drags her son to a haircut.

“You know what?” Yuri asks, bouncing on his toes as he looks around the treehouse. “I think you’re right. I need something that’ll keep me in mainly one spot, or not taking up the entire room.”

“Exactly.” Otabek takes another bite from the bar, pleased that Yuri’s agreeing with him.

“Yeah, that’ll do.” Yuri looks directly at his friend, holding one hand outward in his direction. “Otabek, get up.”

An intake of air, a piece of food lodged in his throat, and several attempts to cough it out overtake Otabek. “What?” he sputters out, once he’s able to breathe air freely and his airways are clogged.

“You heard me.” Yuri still has his hand out, looking like a man on a mission. “Get up and get over here. You’re going to dance with me.”

It takes too long to get Otabek up and next to Yuri, and even longer to show him the steps to the dance; a simple waltz anyone could learn.

“So,” he starts, trying to match tempo with Yuri. The blond is leading, of course, each step he takes more and more graceful. “Like this?”

Yuri hums an answer, nodding as he mouths out the steps. Highly unprofessional of him to do, this Yuri knows, but he also knows it’s best to help Otabek understand what to do.

The floorboards creak with every step they take, patting out a song of sorts while they move. When Yuri decides to amp it up a notch, quickening his steps, Otabek follows, even if he’s somewhat struggling to match up. Their feet are a blur, the poised nature they had assumed when starting now slipping into silly sways, of bare feet and socks colliding amongst one another.

Otabek smiles.

Yuri gives one in return.

Both stumble, trip on the other's feet, find their balance and continue.

The treehouse feels the tandem.

* * *

 There’s a calm sense in the air. Or, they would want it to be.

Fingers tugging on hair, bobby pins falling onto the ground. In front of them, a magazine with numbered instructions detailing what movements to make next.

Yuri doesn’t mind raising his voice at Otabek, quick to point out if he’s pulling too hard. Otabek is very careful to look at what the pages have, letting out sighs of frustration with every wrong move. When he raises the brush to smooth over frizzy hair, he’s muttering curses under his breath.

How does anybody know how to do this? he’s asking.

Obviously, the stylist right there does, Yuri barks back. Now hurry up. I want to show up to practice with my hair looking good.

It’s just hair.

If it’s just hair, you shouldn’t be struggling this much, huh?

Otabek makes to tug extra hard with the new sweep of the brush.

When they’ve finally gotten his hair done just right, they leave the treehouse and have Yuri whisked away to dance practice, only to find the sudden rainstorm that overtakes them. When he’s back home, blond hair soaking wet and features twisted into what might be his best pout yet, Otabek can’t help but laugh over his best friend’s misfortune.

Still, when they reside to the treehouse as the rain slows to a steady pour, he’s combing out any knots and helping Yuri try a new hairdo.

The treehouse doesn’t ignore the kind acts that paint a rainbow over the dreary day, each ray of color a new symbol to them.

* * *

“You can’t kiss in a treehouse. It’s too stupid of a place.”

Otabek nods thoughtfully, rolling a grape between each finger as he thinks. The bowl that lies before them is already halfway done, the majority of grapes being swallowed up by Yuri. Through the window of the treehouse, Yuri can see the sunset, bursts of color streaking down and up, colliding in mixtures of pinks and oranges. It’s not a bad day, he notes.

The topic at hand had him scrunching up his nose however, displeasure at the subject clearly present with him.

Kissing.

Otabek had brought it up, remarking on the number of classmates he knew that had already shared a kiss, or “more”, if they got lucky. Joking about what those had knocked up to be considered boosting material, they had slowly shifted away from that to a more personal matter.

“You’ve never kissed anyone, right?” he had asked, brow arched and gaze locked on his blond friend.

Yuri nearly chokes on a grape, scaring away the cat he’s been petting. “Why would you ask that?” he responded, cheeks burning up as he glares at Otabek.

He shrugs, popping his grape into his mouth and talking as he chews, something Yuri scrunches his nose up at. “Well, it’s just,” he starts, before swallowing, “I always thought you haven’t had your first kiss yet. You haven’t, right?”

“No,” Yuri lets out, looking away. “But, it’s not like you’ve had yours yet,” he says, trying to find something to conquer Otabek’s question.

“Of course I haven’t,” Otabek agrees. He leans in, bumps Yuri with his shoulder. “Don’t you think if I did, I’d have told you already?”

Yuri blinks, surprised at his answer. Sure, he had assumed Otabek hadn’t had a kiss, but hearing it, said aloud as something as normal as the weather, was almost groundbreaking to him.

So, he made to say the first thing to spring to mind.

“Well, I guess that means you haven’t nailed someone yet, huh?”

The laughs that trickle out are loud and rambunctious, his question altering the mood at hand and bringing Otabek’s rare grin to light.

“I’m afraid not,” he lets out, reaching into the bowl to find another grape. While Yuri continues to devour the majority, Otabek takes him time, slowly savoring the flavor, of the bittersweet taste that covers his mouth.

The next question he gives Yuri is one that nearly stops both of their hearts.

“Why don’t we kiss?”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“I’m just saying, it seems fitting. We’re best friends, and wouldn’t you rather kiss your best friend rather than kiss a total stranger?”

“Yeah, I guess you’d be right with that. It would be a good way to get the whole “get to know the person” thing out of the way too. But, in a treehouse?”

“What’s wrong with a treehouse?”

“You can’t kiss in a treehouse. It’s too stupid of a place.”

“If I’m right, just last week, you said this treehouse was the best place on Earth.”

“Well, I’ve changed my mind.”

“Well, if you don’t want to,” Otabek pops another grape into his mouth, “I’ll pretend this never happened.”

Yuri looks over at him, bowl now ignored. He squints. “I know what you’re trying to do,” he announces. “You’re trying to make me kiss you.”

Otabek starts, looking over at Yuri. “I just said if you don’t want to- “

“I know what you said,” Yuri interrupts, holding a hand outward to stop him. “And what you said means you want to try and make me want to kiss you.”

“I’m not!”

“I know how reverse psychology works, Otabek. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“And I’m telling you I don’t want to pressure you into anything.”

“You know what? I’m above this little mind game you’re trying to pull.” Yuri reaches into the bowl and a handful, using his free hand and pointing a finger at Otabek.

The older friend sighs, unable to keep up with Yuri’s nature. “Really?” he asks. “You’re above this thing I’m clearly _not_ trying to do?”

“Yep.”

“Well, that’s great.” Otabek turns to the bowl of grapes once more, ready to put the discussion at rest.

“Indeed.” He paused for a moment. “Now, come and kiss me,” Yuri tells Otabek.

Their first kiss, shared between the two, isn’t anything like in the movies they’ve binged together, or in the novels Otabek’s has had Yuri read out to him. It’s not very long, but not very short. There’s no passion that they’ve always thought of a kiss to be like, and it’s not like they shared a soft forehead touch once they parted.

The treehouse notices that their first kiss, as a whole, is something new.

* * *

The map they’ve brought up into the treehouse is large. Too large.

Otabek and Yuri aren’t tall enough to put it up on the wall, but they try, perched dangerously on chairs on separate sides of the room. When they finally manage to keep it up, although not balanced, they hop off the chairs and come together to view it.

“I can’t even see our city,” Yuri says. “Who knew the world was so…”

“So?”

“Big.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Otabek leans over and picks up the cup of pins. He holds it out towards Yuri. “Wanna place the first one?”

Yuri smiles. It takes some stretching, straining to go as high as he can on his toes, but he lands the spot, pin pressed deeply into the wall and marking the location. He turns his head to look at Otabek, smiling.

“I want to see your home.”

The pins begin to dot the map, cities and places marked, some they’ve never even heard of before. It starts to overtake continents, crossing the vast oceans and decorating the world.

Neither know if they’ll ever even venture out of their city, much less out of Russia. Both know it’s unlikely they’ll get to travel to all of them.

But, both also know they’d want to carry on with it, each at the other’s side all the while.

The treehouse hold hope, for a future where they’ll be able to achieve their dreams and wants, together while they do so.

**Author's Note:**

> @inuyashas_ on twitter


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